What Comes Next
by takethetardis97
Summary: When Dylan finds his brother after he ran off with Bradley Martin, all he can do is take him home and hope for the best. But neither he nor his mother can deny that Norman is becoming too much for them to handle. My take on what happens after the Season 3 finale.
1. Chapter 1

Night had already dominated the sky as Dylan drove his truck on the streets of White Pine Bay, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. Little droplets began to fall to his windshield as dark clouds began to coalesce overhead. He hoped that it wouldn't start pouring, although, it wouldn't be the first time his younger brother was out alone in the rain.

It was not unusual for Norman to lash out like this; in fact, in the last year it had become something to be expected from time to time. But Dylan grew increasingly concerned for his brother's wellbeing the months passed. This was, in part, due to how close they'd grown in the last year, but mostly because Dylan could see clearly the downward spiral of his little brother's mental stability. As much as he disagreed with the way Norma handled Norman, he knew that taking him home was a much better choice than allowing the unbalanced teenager to run about the town by himself at night. It seemed that every time Norman was alone, bad things happened, and Dylan just wished he could convince himself that none of it was Norman's fault.

The rain began to pelt the windows, as if each drop was a bullet trying to find Dylan's chest. The young man tried not to let the flapping windshield wipers distract him as he searched for his brother in the trees surrounding him, scanning the side of the road while at the same time watching straight in front of the car. He knew that his chances of finding Norman were slim on a dark rainy night like this, even in a town as small as his. Still, he swore to himself that he wouldn't stop searching until his brother was safe. What came next was unclear.

It had been hours since he started his search when he finally found his brother. He saw Norman for the first time that night outside of the woods a little closer to the docks, standing in place and shivering slightly, even with his jacket on. Dylan drove the truck up towards him, veering the wheels over the gravelly road and hurdling out the door the moment the vehicle had rumbled to a stop. He ran around the truck to meet his brother, who seemed to be locked in one of his trances.

It didn't take long before Dylan was helping his brother into the passenger's side of his car, ignoring the traces of blood that crusted Norman's hands and buckling the catatonic boy into the seat. They didn't say a word to one another as Dylan sped home, which was to be expected in Norman's state. The older boy kept his eyes on the road, glancing occasionally at his younger brother with an expression that was riddled with worry. He knew that things with Norman would only get worse from here, and he and Norma were not the slightest bit equipped to handle these types of situations. He would have to have a discussion with her later. For now, his priority was getting his brother home.

The truck eventually rolled into the motel parking lot, and the rain had subsided. Dylan got out of the car and walked over to his brother's side, helping the younger man to his feet. Norman seemed lost in his own head, and he was clearly incapable of making his way to the house on his own. Dylan wrapped his brother's arm around his shoulder, placing his own hand on Norman's back for support. Each step was like a mile for them, as Norman was not helping with the walking part one bit. As they neared the house, Dylan was practically dragging his little brother along, just trying to focus on getting the boy inside. When he reached the front of the house, both arms were supporting his brother. He freed his hand for just long enough to knock on the door.

The door flew open almost immediately, blowing back the blonde curls that hung spastically around his mother's tear-stained face. She met Dylan's eyes first with sheer gratitude, then allowing her worry-laced stare to fall onto her younger son. She helped them both inside, wordlessly grabbing Norman's legs as Dylan kept hold of his arms, working together to carry the limp, traumatized boy to his room. When they got up the stairs and into his bedroom, they laid Norman on his bed, throwing a few blankets over his cold body as his blue eyes found themselves lost in the ceiling. After catching their breath, Dylan and his mother just looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Norma quickly bolted the window and led her older son out of the room, locking the door behind her.

"Dylan," she whispered, unsure of what she was going to say. Her blue eyes began to well with tears, as they had done many times that night. Her older son simply shushed her, pulling his mother into his chest for a hug and standing with her for several moments. He could see from the flickering in her eyes and from how she quivered that Norma was terrified. It was a look that always took him back to when he and Norman were little, when he would watch Sam advance on her, preparing to beat her or who knows what. He hated that he was never able to protect her then, back when he had nothing but love for his mother, before everything that happened to distance them. Norma was just as scared now, but there was something more that made this pain worse than anything she'd ever experienced. She loved Norman so much, more than anything in the world, but he was hurting her.

Dylan would be around to protect her this time.

The two of them made their way downstairs, Dylan leading his mother to a seat at the table before starting on a pot of coffee. The room was filled with a heavy silence, both mother and son feeling as though they should say something but having no idea where to start. Just one floor above them, lying dormant in his bed, was a ticking time bomb that they couldn't contain any longer. They had to act fast, or everything would fall apart. Dylan knew that he had to say something to his mother, but the conversation that was necessary would certainly end badly. Still, he knew they'd been putting this off for too long. He turned to face her and inhaled deeply, breaking the silence.

"What are we going to do?" he asked with an unwavering stare directed towards his mother. He knew that she was distraught, but they needed to address this. Norma stared back at him with shiny eyes and reddened cheeks, her fight completely gone.

"I don't know," she replied. She didn't make excuses for her son as she used to; she didn't lie to herself anymore and say that she could handle him. She was devoid of energy and visibly heartbroken, trapped in unwinnable circumstances. Still, Dylan had to push her.

"Well, we have to figure out something, Norma," he pressed, running a hand through his golden hair, "We have to know what to do before things get out of hand." He began to pace, racking his mind for possible solutions, only able to imagine the worst. He didn't notice that Norma was breaking down, her face scrunching with all the pain of a mother who no longer knew her son.

"I can't, Dylan," she sobbed, closing her eyes and letting the tears slip through and trickle onto her face, "I can't send him away, and I can't keep him here. I've run out of options!" Her face grew redder as more tears escaped her glassy eyes and fell onto the table. Her expression was lined with more misery than Dylan could imagine a single person having. He wished he could give her an answer, but even he was short of ideas. He quickly took a seat by his mother, rubbing his hand on her quivering back for comfort.

"We'll talk it out, Mom," he whispered to her, trying to console her in any way he could, "We'll find an answer." He doubted that there was an answer to be found, but he couldn't stand to see her like this. He just wished that she could be happy.

"You and I both know that we won't," she responded softly, wiping her eyes with a few delicate fingertips. Dylan continued to rub her back, unsure of what to say at first. They sat in silence for a few moments, dumbfounded by the impasse they'd reached. Finally, Dylan said the only thing he could think to say.

"We have to."

About an hour passed and neither of them had spoken. Dylan's head flooded with fleeting attempts at a solution, each idea quickly getting shut down before he could think to share it. He imagined Norma had thought of everything; she was always one to think excessively and had Norman on her mind most of the time anyway. It wasn't before long that Dylan realized any idea he could possibly come up with was one she'd already considered and, undoubtedly, written off. The situation frustrated him to no end, making him feel more trapped than he'd ever felt in his life. And that included all of the times when he was almost killed.

It was almost morning now, but the sky was still dark with no sign of brightening any time soon. Norma shook her head angrily, pulling out her cell phone with an unenthusiastic look on her already troubled face.

"I didn't want to do this," she grumbled, punching in the number with careless fingers. Dylan looked up, startled by his mother's sudden jump to action.

"What?" he questioned, trying to look over her phone screen, "Who are you calling?" She huffed, pulling the phone to her ear and standing from her chair. She lingered by the entrance way, as if preparing to leave the room, before turning back to face her son.

"Sheriff Romero," she answered with a straight face, waiting for him to pick up.

"Sheriff Romero?" he asked, convinced that his mother had finally lost it, "Do you know what time it is? He doesn't seem like the type of guy who'd enjoy being woken up at three in the morning." Norma waved him off, suddenly in better spirits.

"Oh please, he's a night owl. He's probably already awake," she replied lightheartedly. How his mother knew that about the sheriff, he didn't want to know. He watched with a slack jaw as his mother left the room, shaking his head as he heard her whisper _"Alex?"_ in a helpless voice. He doubted that even if Sheriff Romero came to her rescue, as he always seemed to when Norma called, he would give her an answer that she could accept. He decided not to think about that, though. Now, he was starting to feel drowsiness creep into his eyes and make his limbs feel heavy. He didn't know what would happen, but what he did know is that sleep would do him some good. He tried to drag himself up the stairs, convincing himself that tomorrow, they would find an answer.

Dylan came down the next morning to find both his mother and Sheriff Romero perched at the table, the yellow sunlight pouring through the windows and bouncing off their hair as they each nursed a mug of coffee. Both were completely silent, staring off into space as if in deep thought. The sheriff looked a little worse for wear, Dylan noted; his eyes were lined with apprehension and an obvious lack of sleep. The young man entered the kitchen, heading to grab a cup of coffee without saying anything to his mother and trying to avoid an awkward exchange with Romero.

"Morning, Dylan," she supplied, her voice laced with exhaustion. Although it was nearing 9:30, he wasn't quite sure if his mother had gotten any sleep. The young man filled his cup to the brim, walking over to fill the chair furthest Norma and the sheriff. He smiled weakly, taking a forceful sip of the coffee before responding.

"Hey Norma," he replied softly, rubbing his still-tired eyes, "Did you, uh, figure out a solution?" His mother eyed the sheriff worriedly, answering his question. Dylan figured as much.

"We actually didn't talk much about that," she replied tentatively, still looking at Romero with the same concern that she gave Norman. Dylan was confused, but he decided not to press the matter; the sheriff looked completely exhausted.

Before he could come back with an uncomfortable response, the sound of the staircase creaking filled the room. Dylan watched as Norma flinched at every tentative footstep, ignoring the comforting hand that the sheriff placed on his mother's shoulder. He watched as her fingers danced lightly across the handle of the iron doorstop that she kept near since she realized that her son could overpower her. She shivered away her worry and faked a smile as she saw her younger son emerge from the end of the stairway, twisting the handle of the locked front door.

"Oh! Good morning, sweetie. Can I make you some breakfast?" she piped from down the hallway. She seemed to startle Norman, who didn't know she was there. His eyes flashed with panic as he turned to face her, but he quickly collected himself and walked with purpose towards the kitchen, stopping in the doorway and crossing his skinny arms to his chest.

"I'm leaving, Mother," the boy said sternly, just as he had the night before. His first attempt may have failed, but he seemed as adamant about the fact as ever. Norma stood carefully, raising a tentative hand in front of her as she tried to reason with her unstable son.

"Norman…" she began, trying to talk him down. It had worked in the past, on occasion at least, and she had nothing left to lose. This time, though, her tone only served to make the boy angrier.

"You can't keep me here!" he shouted, backing away slightly as if the sight of his mother terrified him, "If I can't go with Bradley, then I'll just go alone, but there is no way I'm staying here with you." He turned to walk away, back down the hall, jiggling at the knob that Norma had somehow locked. It was as if he wasn't willing to accept that he was trapped. Staring back at Norma with his hand still on the knob, he shouted, "I'm leaving!"

"Norman, sweetie. Listen to me," she pleaded, following her son to the front of the house, "You are not well." Romero rose from his seat to back her up, and Dylan followed closely behind.

"I'm fine, Mother!" the boy cried, his eyes flickering with rage, "Stop saying that I'm sick!" He stomped his foot after he stopped yelling and then proceed to kick at the door. Norma looked as though she was going to run towards him, but Romero's firm hand on her shoulder held her back.

"I know it's hard to understand right now, but I'm just trying to keep you safe," she reasoned, her voice cracking at the sight of her infuriated son, "Please, just sit down. I'll make you some breakfast." She pointed towards the kitchen, leaning forward, trying to grab his arm. At this his face reddened, his muscles tensed up, and all traces of her mild-mannered son were lost.

"NO!" he bellowed, reaching over to grab a lamp. He lifted it, throwing it with all of the force his skinny arms could muster at his unsuspecting mother. Both Dylan and Alex jumped in front of Norma to block her from the heavy piece of furniture that was spiraling towards her head. She lifted her own arms in an attempt to protect herself, dropping the metal door stopper, which fell with a thud. Unfortunately, when the lamp reached them with all of its momentum, Dylan received most of the blow and fell instantly to the floor.

"Norman!" Norma cried, tears streaming from her eyes as her tone begged for her gentle son to return, "Calm down, please!" The boys blue eyes still flashed with anger as they scanned the room for something else to throw. Before he could reach for the iron doorstop, which lay abandoned at his feet, Sheriff Romero lunged forward and pulled the skinny boy into an inescapable hold.

"You need to stop this, son," he growled as the boy squirmed, trying to break free. Soon, Norman lost all energy and fell limp in the sheriff's arms. Alex looked down at the frozen boy with confused eyes, staring back at Norma, who seemed nothing short of terrified. Soon, Norman's faded, blank eyes turned panicked. He didn't seem to know where he was or how he got there, and he stared up to see who it was that had him locked in that position.

"Sheriff Romero?" he asked softly when he met the man's dark, severe eyes. He seemed close to passing out, trembling in Romero's hold. The cop tried to keep him on his feet, seemingly trained in handling situations like this.

"Yes, it's me," he replied, altering his grasp so he was less hurting the kid and more keeping him from falling, "Just take a few deep breaths, Norman. You need to calm down right now." The boy appeared to be listening to Romero's instructions, but he was soon overtaken by exhaustion. His eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he lost consciousness with nothing but the sheriff's forearms to keep him from tumbling to the floor.

"He's not moving. Let's get him up to his room," Romero instructed, struggling with the lifeless teenager. Dylan stood to help out, feeling a bit woozy as he did so and wiping the small drops of blood from under his eye where the lamp had hit him. He once again grabbed the skinny legs of his unconscious brother, taking him again up to his room. Just like yesterday, he had no idea what would come next. He imagined he would wonder that for the rest of his life if they didn't decide what to do with the boy. Norma trailed behind the three men, likely thinking the same thing.

When they got to the bedroom, they again laid Norman on the bed. Dylan wondered if he should grab some rope to restrain him, but he decided against bringing it up to his already anxious mother. She stared down at her unconscious son once again, then looking up at the dark-haired man with shiny eyes.

"Thank you, Alex," she whispered, trying not to cry. She seemed to cry a lot these days, when it came to Norman.

"Norma," he urged, ignoring her thanks, "You have to do something about this. You're not going to always have Dylan or me to protect you." She nodded, wiping her eyes and staring down at her son once more. He looked so peaceful, lying sleepily on the bed with all traces of rage gone from his face. His beautiful, sweet, gentle face.

"I know."


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't long before word of Bob Paris's sudden departure spread like a virus through the town. Romero was constantly under fire, bombarded with subtle accusations and surrounded by people whispering and sharing theories about what his role may have been in the disappearance. While Paris was certainly not the most liked guy in town, it would be a lie to say that the sheriff didn't have a few enemies of his own. There were people out to get him: people who could take him out with the slightest evidence against him.

He seemed to meet more and more with Norma, spending days with her more regularly and yet becoming increasingly on edge. Still, he insisted every time that they didn't talk about him, enthusiastically offering advice about Norman if only to change the subject. Around a week after they'd gotten him back home, the two of them sat in the Bates' kitchen, tossing around ideas.

"Maybe you could get someone to stay with him and watch out for him for a bit?" Romero suggested to a worried Norma, "You know, someone he trusts." She shook her head, blonde curls twirling, immediately seeing the problem in his suggestion.

"Yeah, I've thought about it, Alex," she lamented, sipping at another mug of coffee, completely devoid of energy, "At first I thought of Dylan, but he's got work and his own life: enough problems without having to constantly worry about Norman." She laced her fingers into her white-blonde hair, scratching at her scalp with concentration. Romero pressed on.

"Okay, well, it doesn't have to be Dylan," he offered, scratching his own head, "There are other people close to him, aren't there?" He couldn't imagine a kid Norman's age not having other friends, even a kid like Norman. Still, Norma still seemed uneasy about the topic; she had undeniably considered similar ideas in great detail.

"The only other option is Emma, and I couldn't ask that much of her," she reasoned, waving her manicured hand as if to dismiss the notion, "Plus she's not strong enough to handle Norman by herself if he lashes out." Her face morphed back into a lost expression, but Alex didn't think they had completely ruled out anything.

"Well she's his friend, so it shouldn't be too much trouble, right?" he shot back, staring at her with puzzled eyes, "And has he ever lashed out at her before?" Norma peered up briefly in thought.

"Well, no, but I just don't think it's a good idea," she replied, dismissing the suggestion once again, "I mean, they used to date. That would not be fun for either of them." Alex's nostrils flared, angry that she wasn't even considering any of his recommendations. He was doing everything he could to help her, including holding himself back from an exasperated outburst.

"Jesus, I'm just spit-balling here, Norma, but you have to do something," he growled, speaking forthrightly now, "I could tell you what I really think is best for him, but I know you won't like it." The room grew silent. That got her attention.

"Fine," she whispered after a few moments, accepting defeat, "I'll ask her next time I see her. I just don't want to put her in danger." Alex softened his expression, trying to reassure her that the situation would work out. He hated to see Norma so stressed out all the time.

"Just make sure they don't go off to far alone," he instructed sternly with his signature detached stare, "If there's trouble, call me. I honestly doubt he'd ever attack the girl, Norma. From what I can tell, it's the family craziness that sets the kid off." The blonde woman seemed offended for a brief moment, but she seemed to consider the statement, wondering if it may be true.

"You know what? You're right," she assured, more to herself than the sheriff, "All he needs is some safe separation for a little while, and he'll get over this whole new preoccupation with leaving. That makes sense, right?" She looked up at Alex with hopeful blue eyes that begged him for the slightest bit of reassurance. Romero didn't like to lie; he had none to offer.

"I've got to go, Norma," he replied, wrapping his jacket around his shoulders as he turned to leave the kitchen, "Good luck."

And with that, he was gone.

That afternoon, Norma called Emma over the phone to ask her about keeping an eye on Norman. The girl seemed more than happy to help, even agreeing to come that night during one of his shifts at the motel. Norma couldn't thank her enough, wondering to herself how they had ever been lucky enough to have someone who cares that much for their family. It was peculiar how eager Emma was to help them out, but Norma would never complain.

At around 7:30 at night, Emma's rickety old car rolled into the parking lot of the motel. The girl stepped out of the side door, the deep rolling of her oxygen tank following her as she skipped into the motel office.

"Hello, Norman," she piped as she swung open the wooden door. The skinny boy seemed startled by her voice, jumping before turning to face her with alarmed blue eyes.

"Oh! Hi, Emma," he replied, catching his breath between words. He unconsciously straightened his sweater and ran a hand through his brown, flyaway hair. He didn't look so good, she noticed.

"Can I help with anything?" Emma offered, walking towards him and resting her elbows on the front desk. It disappointed her to see how uncomfortable he was as he fumbled around with a stack of papers to try and appear busy.

"Uh, no, I'm just finishing up," he replied, seeming to stumble over his words, "What are you doing here? It's not your shift." She crossed her arms, wondering why her friend was acting so strangely- well, more strangely than usual.

"I'm just visiting," she responded, slightly hurt, "Do you want me to leave?" She was trying to be polite, but she quickly remembered that she promised Norma that she'd stay. Luckily for her, Norman was too polite to send her away.

"No, but…" he stuttered, seeming deeply uneasy. Emma tried to find some words that would ease the tension.

"Look Norman, I know things are probably still weird between us," she admitted, stepping closer to the boy, "But I want you to know you're still my best friend and you can tell me anything that's bothering you." The boy walked straight passed her, straightening the sign on the window as if it were the most urgent matter he had ever attended to.

"Yes, thank you, Emma," he replied bitingly, "Good to know." She watched as he paced around the tiny office, trying not to get angry with the way he was blowing her off. It was clear that he was very stressed out.

"I'm serious, Norman," she insisted, grabbing his shoulder, "What's wrong? You're not acting like yourself."

She watched as her friend turned to face her, noticing the tears that began to well in his eyes. His scrawny shoulders began to quiver, and he placed both of his hands into his pockets. Soon, he was trying to look anywhere but at her, a few tears fleeing his gleaming eyes.

"Norman?" she asked uncertainly, not used to seeing him like this.

"I'm sorry, Emma," he answered with repentance, wiping the tears from his eyes as he attempted to turn away. He was stopped by her gentle hand on his shoulder; her warm arm wrapped across his trembling back.

"Don't be," she urged, rubbing circles on his back for comfort "Just tell me what's going on." Norman tried to slow his own shaking, knowing where his emotions could take him if things got out of hand.

"You're right," he started with a crackling voice, "I haven't been myself. I don't even know who I am anymore." He wiped his eyes again, which seemed to supply fresh tears the moment he removed his hand. "I just know that I have to get away from Mother. I know we love each other but I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want her to hurt me." Emma shook her head at his statement, showering him with reassurances.

"She would never hurt you," she responded, "She's just trying to help you. She loves you." At this, Norman seemed to stop crying. He simply trembled, shaking his head back and forth.

"You don't know her like I do," he insisted, squirming out of the girl's embrace suddenly. He began to pace around the office again, with a perplexed Emma trailing closely behind.

"What do you mean, Norman?" she inquired. Never having seen Norma hurt a fly, she found his claim confusing. She didn't want to be nosy, but if Norman was in trouble, she needed to hear about it.

"Mother has done very bad things," he explained without really explaining, "I can't protect her for much longer." Emma shook her head, still confused and now a bit worried.

"Like what?" she pressed, walking closer to her friend. Instead of looking at her, though, he looked past her, addressing the empty space near the door of the office.

"I don't care," he shouted heatedly into the air, "I have to tell her!" Emma looked around, and then back to Norman with pure concern.

"Norman, you're scaring me," she cried, reaching out for his shoulder, "What is going on?" His gaze returned to her, as if he had finally decided to spill some big secret.

"Mother killed Bradley Martin," he confessed, trying to fight back the tears and appearing traumatized by a memory that couldn't be real, "I tried to stop her, but she just got so angry, Emma." The girl froze where she was, unsure of how to proceed.

"Norman, Bradley Martin committed suicide, remember?" she reminded him, hoping that the fact had merely slipped his mind.

"No, Emma, I mean last week when I ran off with her," he clarified, only to receive a worried look from his friend, "Mother was so upset; she said Bradley was no good." She had no idea what he was talking about, but she was actually scared. She was starting to regret agreeing to stay with him. She studied her friend, whose hair stuck out in all different directions, whose eyes flashed wildly and were lined with bags. She suddenly grabbed Norman by his shoulders, steadily moving him to the door.

"It's getting late," she reasoned, eager to change the subject, "Why don't we head back up to the house? The rest will do you some good." The look in his eyes was a heartbreaking blend of terror and confusion.

"Why does everyone keep acting like I'm crazy?" he asked in a cracked voice, "I saw what happened, but nobody believes me! She's scares me, Emma." She couldn't understand why he was so terrified of Norma now, but she wanted nothing but to help him.

"I know," she assured, holding onto his trembling form, "How about I talk to Dylan and we'll handle it?" Suddenly, Norman shook her off and backed away, his tone now trenchant.

"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he bit back with a scowl, "Alone time with Dylan?" Her jaw dropped in shock; she didn't think that Norman would suspect…

"Norman, I'm just trying to help," she pleaded, trying to get closer to him again. The glower lingered on his face for a moment, but soon his expression softened as his exhaustion got the better of him.

"I'm sorry. I know you are, Emma," he replied, allowing her to once again support him with an arm around his back, "Thank you."

"It's no problem," she replied, glad that he came to his senses and that he avoided a meltdown. With his shoulder in one hand and the handle of her rolling oxygen tank in the other, she piped, "How 'bout we get you up to the house?"

After about fifteen minutes of climbing the concrete stairs, Emma's tank clanking noisily behind them, the two teenagers finally made it to the door of the Bates house. When they entered they were greeted by Dylan, who helped Emma lead Norman up to his room and get him in bed. Luckily for them he went to sleep without a fight, seeming more exhausted lately than usual. After they were sure Norman was situated, the two of them left the room to talk.

"Dylan," Emma murmured, looking up at her best friend's brother, "Norman's really starting to worry me." The blond man nodded at her and sighed, understanding completely as he stared off into space.

"I know" he replied solemnly, rubbing his own tired eyes, "We're still trying to figure out what we're gonna do." Emma nodded, but the conversation that she and Norman had was still at the forefront of her mind, disturbing her.

"He said some really strange stuff to me down in the motel office," she began, brushing back her hair and looking to Dylan for assurance.

"What do you mean?" Norman's older brother asked, peering briefly back at the closed bedroom door. Emma inhaled deeply, unsure of how Dylan would take this information. It seemed like Norman had finally lost touch with reality.

"He said that Norma killed Bradley Martin," she explained, the horror flickering in her dark brown eyes. Dylan's expression became even more serious.

"Christ, he was babbling all about how he was gonna run off with her last week," he rambled, placing his hand on his forehead in frustration. Emma offered him a confused glance.

"But she's dead," she stated simply, wondering what this meant for Norman. If he was far gone enough to babble about leaving town with a dead girl, what's to say that he wouldn't hurt himself? Or worse, his family?

"Um…" Dylan offered, biting his lip. Emma was just getting more confused.

"What do you mean 'um'?" she pressed, recognizing that Dylan was withholding information. The taller boy rocked on his heels, clearly uneasy.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this," he began nervously, and Emma gave him an expectant look, "but she sort of… faked her suicide." The teenager's jaw dropped, unsure if she had heard the man correctly. _Did he just say Bradley Martin is alive?_

"Are you serious?" she gaped, still not believing what she was hearing. She didn't know what she could believe nowadays, to be honest. "Oh my god. Holy shit. Well, you don't think he… killed her? Do you?" She shivered, unable to imagine poor Norman killing anyone. But he did get pretty angry sometimes…

"Honestly Emma?" Dylan snapped, shaking his head doubtfully, "I don't think she was even here. We saw no sign of her anywhere when he left. Why would she come back to White Pine Bay, anyway? When I found him, he was standing alone in the rain, with no sign of a body around. He used to be obsessed with Bradley. He probably just fell into one of his states and imagined the whole thing."

"Poor guy…" Emma whispered, easily imagining her friend in the pouring rain, lonely and miserable. She couldn't even imagine how terrifying the whole ordeal had been for Norman, especially when she considered how innately fragile he was. Dylan seemed to be reading her mind, nodding in agreement.

"I know," he replied simply, staring off with a face lined in worry, "He's been going through quite a lot. He's a danger to himself, but there's no way Norma would send him away." The two of them stood in silence for a moment, taking in just how firmly wedged they were in their situation. Emma tried to offer anything she could to move them forward.

"I'm so sorry, Dylan," she consoled him, "If there's anything I can do, just call me. I love Norman, and I'll do anything to make sure he stays safe." Dylan nodded, smiling warmly down at her, loving her more than ever.

"Thank you, Emma," he whispered, "You have no idea how lucky he is to have a friend like you." She smiled back up at Dylan, and the feelings she had for him grew more rooted inside of her. She loved their family more than anything, and she felt something even more special for Dylan. If there was any way she could help him through this, than she'd be damned if she didn't give it her all.

"I'll probably see you tomorrow," she whispered, turning to glide down the hallway. And she was gone.


End file.
